Leighton
by Diana E. Gray
Summary: Sometimes sitting around at home isn't what a lady wants to do with her time. But when a certain famous detective vows to figure out her secret, proceeding with caution is a must. (Entry for the 2015 Court Records OC Contest)
1. Da Capo

Very little conversation took place around the Gardiner breakfast table in general, and today was no exception. The only sound this particular April morning was the clatter of silverware on plates and the rustle of newspaper pages. A cough broke the tension, Andrew Gardiner locking eyes with his daughter across the table.

"What do you have planned for today, Leighton?"

The girl across from him pushed a strand of blonde hair out of electric blue eyes. Their intelligence and wit always gave her father pause, like there was something she wasn't telling him. "Nothing in particular, Father. Just staying at home with Joanna."

Joanna entered the room as if on cue, bobbing a quick curtsy to them both. "Begging your pardon, sir, but there's a package for you at the front door."

"Oh, that's mine, Father," Leighton spoke up quickly. "A new Beethoven sonata that Miss Elle recommended at my lesson last week."

"Ah, of course, of course," Andrew replied, getting up from the table and kissing the top of his daughter's head dotingly. "Will you play for me tonight?"

Leighton looked up at him, smiling. "Of course, Father."

Andrew smiled in return, humming happily as he headed for the front door. He got few pleasures out of life these days, but one of them was his daughter's exquisite piano playing. She was a prodigy in his layman's opinion and he couldn't be more proud of her.

Leighton dropped the façade the second her father was out of earshot, looking over at Joanna. "An opportune time for that new piece to come, I think." Her maid nodded in agreement. "How much time do I have?"

"Not long, miss."

Leighton sighed, pressing a hand to her forehead. "I hate cutting it this close. I'll see what I can do." Joanna nodded before exiting the room again, returning with a tray of food, juice, and coffee just as Andrew Gardiner reentered the dining room.

He gave the package to his daughter, who opened it eagerly. Smiling at her enthusiasm, he took another drink of coffee, turning to the next page of his morning paper. Silence reigned again, broken only by Joanna, Leighton's maid, refilling glasses of orange juice. Leighton delicately placed a piece of sausage in her mouth, her eyes flicking between the clock on the wall and her father's face. If she didn't get things moving, she was going to be late.

"Father, don't you think you should be going soon? I don't want you to be late."

Andrew turned to look at the clock, Leighton making a desperate face at Joanna behind his back. Joanna shook her head helplessly before disappearing out the side door of the dining room with her tray full of empty dishes.

"Leighton, I still have an hour at least. Let an old man enjoy his coffee in peace, will you?"

"But now that the holidays are approaching, the streets will be more crowded today. And you're a judge, you can't afford to be late."

Andrew Gardiner took one last sip of his coffee, sighed, and stood, picking up his bag from beside his chair. "Alright, Leighton. You win. I'm sure you just want me out of the house so you can practice. I'll see you tonight, sweetheart." He kissed the top of her head once more before exiting the house, calling for the carriage.

Leighton exhaled, quickly standing and exiting the dining room as well. "Joanna!" she called loudly, her voice echoing across the empty foyer. Her maid poked her head out from the second floor.

"Miss, everything's ready, just come upstairs and change. You're running late."

"I know…" Leighton muttered, holding her skirt as she ran up the stairs and into her room. Laid out on her bed were a smart suit and a shorter blonde wig. She quickly changed, throwing her skirts at Joanna, who folded them hastily and stored them in the closet. She'd already changed into different clothes as well – pants and a shirt, her hair tucked up in a cap.

"We should be able to make it on foot if we hurry, miss. The courthouse isn't too far," Joanna encouraged as she carefully adjusted Leighton's hair under the wig, tying a ribbon on the small ponytail.

"No, no, Jo. I'm 'sir' now." Leighton put on the jacket, brushing the badge in her pocket. "Now let's go, it wouldn't due to keep the court waiting."

Joanna sighed. This whole changing genders business was new to her and her mistress was a little eccentric, but she couldn't lie – it was quite exciting. Leighton Gardiner was the daughter of a judge and as such, had always been fascinated with the law. She was bored sitting at home, entertaining callers and playing the piano. So she took matters into her own hands.

Stepping out onto the street a few minutes later from the Gardiner household was Leigh Greenwald, prosecutor, expected to be in court in forty-five minutes representing the city of London. And she, or rather he, couldn't be happier.


	2. Capriccioso

Leighton and Joanna entered the courthouse, a little disheveled from the walk, but with disguises intact. Leighton checked her pocket watch quickly and sighed in relief. Her trial didn't begin for another thirty minutes and if she headed for the courtroom now, she could-

"Ah, Leigh!"

The blonde cursed under her breath, turning toward the voice. "Good morning, Mr. Bartlett." Her voice dropped an octave without her even having to think about it as she offered the owner of the voice a short bow. The older man was an elder prosecutor, capable of holding very intelligent conversations, but at the moment, Leighton wasn't exactly in the mood. She was running late, after all.

"Leigh, have you heard the news? Barok van Zieks is returning to the Old Bailey at last!" Leighton couldn't suppress a flutter of excitement. Before her father had deemed her too fragile for such things, he'd told her stories of the 'Death God of the Old Bailey.' She'd idolized him, but she'd never dreamed that she'd get the chance to meet him after his departure five years ago. "You'll have to come with us to the club sometime, Leigh. I'm sure Barok would like very much to meet such a young accomplished prosecutor as yourself."

"I'm sorry, sir, but I don't know if that will be possible. Part of the reason why I'm so accomplished is that I don't participate in such outings." Leighton got invited to the club quite a bit, but clearly, it was an area of the prosecutor's world that she couldn't access without causing quite a bit of trouble.

Bartlett laughed. "Ah, of course, of course. You're so virtuous, Leigh. It's quite odd, but not unwelcome, my boy." After a year, comments like this no longer phased Leighton. Joanna coughed slightly from just behind her.

"Well, if you'll excuse me, Mr. Bartlett-" Leighton began as she tried to make her escape, but Bartlett's bony hand caught her elbow.

"Oh, just a moment, Leigh, I see someone that you just have to meet!" Leighton cast Joanna a desperate look as with his other hand, Bartlett pulled a blonde man in a trenchcoat and, oddly enough, a pair of goggles out of the throng of people in the courtroom lobby. "Holmes, this is Leigh Greenwald. He's been at Old Bailey for about a year now." Bartlett paused, smiling. "And I'm sure the great detective Sherlock Holmes should need no introduction, eh Leigh?"

"Yes, sir," Leighton managed to reply. This was _the_ Sherlock Holmes now studying her with inquisitive brown eyes before extending a hand.

"Pleasure is mine, I'm sure, Mr. Greenwald." Leighton took the outstretched hand, flinching involuntarily in surprise as Holmes brought it closer to examine it. "Very delicate hand you have, Mr. Greenwald. Nails freshly manicured, too."

Leighton removed her hand, her blue eyes meeting his brown ones, a challenging glow in their sapphire depths. "Rest assured, Mr. Holmes, these delicate hands can command a courtroom as well as any others. All the better to slam a desk with, eh Bartlett?" Her voice was still light and cheerful, but there was a small knot in her stomach.

"Don't underestimate his slight frame, Mr. Holmes. You don't want to be on the opposite side of a courtroom from Mr. Greenwald," Bartlett replied, smiling.

"Let us hope I never have to test that theory," Holmes said quickly. "I meant no offense, Mr. Greenwald."

Leighton smiled thinly. "None taken, Mr. Holmes. Now if you gentlemen will excuse me, I have a trial in just a few minutes."

"Ah, of course, do go on, my boy. Sorry to have kept you," Bartlett said, shooing Leighton down the hall toward the courtrooms. After a brief bow to them both, Leighton quickly retreated down the corridor, Joanna just behind. When she arrived outside of the courtroom, she paused, leaning against the wall.

"Are you alright, sir?" Joanna asked. Leighton was quiet for a minute, looking at the ground as she did when trying to regain composure.

"I feel like he saw through me…" Joanna stayed quiet and after a few moments, Leighton lifted her head again, laughing. "There's no way he'll figure me out, even if he is Sherlock Holmes. I doubt I'll ever see him again, and even if I do, I never back down from a challenge."

Joanna couldn't hide a small grin – her mistress was never in low spirits for long. "With all due respect, sir, you should probably go inside."

"Ah, of course. Thank you, Jo." Leighton smoothed her suit, her blue eyes flashing. "I fooled Sherlock Holmes. I think I'll be just fine." Whether she was saying it for Joanna's benefit or her own, she wasn't sure, but she kept her voice cool and confident.

Joanna rolled her eyes. She knew exactly what her mistress was doing. She sighed as she followed Leighton into the courtroom. Someone grabbed the door behind her. "Excuse me," she apologized, turning around, but she froze when a pair of intense brown eyes met hers.

"No, my fault. I was rushing, didn't mean to startle you." Holmes's gaze drifted past her to where Leighton was shuffling through documents at the prosecutor's bench. "There's something interesting about that attorney."


	3. Sonata

Leighton was too busy crowing over her victory on the way back home to listen to Joanna's attempts to speak to her about Mr. Holmes. Finally the maid gave up, deciding to let the matter go at present. She assisted Leighton in changing back into her gown, carefully hiding the men's clothes in a washing bag to take to her parents' house to wash when she went home over the weekend. It was the easiest way that they'd found to clean clothes without arising any suspicion.

She tripped down the stairs into the front parlor, smoothing her skirts one last time before sliding onto the piano bench, quickly opening the lid and setting out her new Beethoven piece as well as a few of her favorites. It was a bit of a risk to play a piece that she hadn't practiced for her father, but her adrenaline was still up from the trial and the encounter with Holmes. Her fingers danced over the keys as she heard the front door open – she'd gotten back just in time.

"Joanna! Joanna!" she heard her father's voice call. "Put on some tea, please, and bring it to the front parlor. I can hear Leighton already." Leighton paused in her playing, a welcoming smile on her lips as the door opened. "Leighton, my dear, I hope you won't mind a slightly larger audience this evening." Andrew Gardiner chuckled, moving aside. "After you, Mr. Holmes. Please, make yourself at home."

Leighton's eyes widened imperceptibly as a familiar blonde man with dark brown eyes stepped into the parlor. His eyes met hers and a flash of something she couldn't read passed over them. "And this is the lovely Leighton you've told me so much about, I presume, sir?" Holmes crossed to the piano, holding out his hand. Leighton stood, her chin held high, placing her hand in his. Holmes dropped a kiss on it delicately, his eyes never leaving hers. His gaze wasn't knowing, Leighton noted – it was questioning, but that same challenging light from earlier incensed her again. The game was most definitely afoot.

Leighton poured tea for both men, trying to appear as feminine as possible. She smiled graciously as she handed them the cups before retreating back to the piano once more. She selected a piece that she'd practiced only yesterday, beginning to play softly. Proper breeding dictated that she not listen to the men's conversation, but at this point, her curiosity (and her growing paranoia) took over. Holmes was regaling her father with tales of his exploits. Leighton couldn't help but be fascinated – his stories were truly fantastic. She'd already read many of them in the magazines. She was jarred out of her thoughts by hearing herself referred to in conversation.

"But perhaps your daughter would like to come over and listen. The music is growing quieter and quieter. Does she have an interest in these types of things?"

Andrew laughed. "Truth be told, Mr. Holmes, I used to tell Leighton stories of court proceedings quite often, but my wife, she… ah, she didn't exactly approve. I tend not to discuss work in from of my daughter since my wife passed. Leighton hasn't heard much of the dealings of our great justice system for, oh, at least fifteen years now." The man shook his head. "All she has cared about since then is music. And as you can hear, I'm sure, she's quite talented."

Leighton played louder, as if to confirm her father's statement, but more to block out the conversation. Her curiosity had faded into a dull frustration. She hated when people talked about her as if she wasn't present, but it was part of being a young woman. She focused intently on the keys, so much so that when a hand reached out to turn a page for her, she jumped in surprise, her finger hitting a wrong note.

There was a rustle of newspaper before Andrew spoke. "Leighton, that's unlike you. Are you alright?"

Leighton barely heard him – her eyes were once again locked with those of Holmes, who was looking at her inquisitively, a smirk on his lips. "No Father, it's nothing, Mr. Holmes just startled me, that's all." She regained her composure, continuing to play.

"These finger movements…" she heard him muse. "They're familiar."

Leighton raised an eyebrow. "Pray tell, sir, where do you think you've seen them before?"

"In court today. A prosecutor, one I'd just met that morning, he drummed on the desk in the exact same pattern as this piece."

Leighton's heart skipped a beat. Did she really do that? She'd never noticed before. "A strange coincidence," she replied calmly, her playing not missing a beat. "Perhaps this attorney you mention is simply familiar with this sonata. It's fairly common."

Holmes was silent for a minute. "Possible, I suppose. Not exactly probable."

"But you can't eliminate the possibility, can you, Mr. Holmes?" Leighton kept her head down to hide her expression. The usual thrill she felt of using someone's words against them was noticeably absent, replaced by a growing feeling of unease. If he'd been able to observe something she hadn't even been aware of herself…

"That I cannot, Miss Gardiner."

"What are you two discussing over there?" Andrew asked, looking up from his paper. "You aren't trying to seduce my daughter, are you, Mr. Holmes? I must take an interest in all of Leighton's romantic affairs, as her father, and if you'll forgive me for saying so, you do have quite a reputation with the ladies, or so the boys at the club say."

Leighton felt her cheeks heat up. "Father!" she scolded. Her embarrassment was not alleviated by Holmes's laughter.

"No, Mr. Gardiner, that isn't my intention in the slightest, I assure you," Holmes replied, still chuckling. "I was merely complimenting your daughter's playing. I'm somewhat of a music aficionado myself, you see."

"Oh, is that so? Well, you'll have to come by again then, Mr. Holmes. I'm sure Leighton would be pleased to play for you anytime." Leighton nodded at her father's words, not looking up from the piano, trying to gauge him from her peripheral vision.

"That would be most welcome, sir," Holmes replied, his gaze turning deadly serious. "I find it quite fascinating."

Leighton knew immediately that he wasn't referring to the music at all. Sherlock Holmes would stop at nothing to prove her identity, and there was virtually nothing she could do about it. The stakes of the game had just become very very real.


	4. Fin

Leighton sighed, resting her chin on her hand and looking out the window, aimlessly watching the carriages and cars pass by. Her trial had ended early in the afternoon and she was too wary of Holmes to spend much time at the courthouse these days. She had seen him occasionally, always observing her closely, sometimes in the gallery of her trials, sometimes across the lobby of the courthouse. Always watching, always judging, always trying to put something together.

Leighton sighed, tugging on a strand of her blonde hair. She knew he'd found her out, that he knew her secret, she was sure of it. But what she didn't know what how he was going to reveal it. Would he tell her father? Would he announce it in the middle of the Old Bailey? She didn't think he was vindictive, per se, but from her interactions with him, she could conclude that he had a flair for the dramatic. Leighton rarely admitted that she was scared… but she was scared. Everything she'd worked so hard for would all be gone once that insufferably proud detective opened his mouth.

Her blue eyes tracked individual raindrops down the windowpane as she silently reflected on all this. The door opening shook her out of her thoughts. Joanna entered, her eyes slightly panicked. "Mr. Sherlock Holmes, miss."

Leighton stood up, her expression guarded, bobbing a curtsy at the man as he entered. He removed his hat and shook it slightly, drops of water flying everywhere, his smile easy. "Good afternoon, Miss Gardiner."

"Good afternoon, sir," Leighton replied carefully. "As you can see, my father isn't home yet."

Holmes shrugged. "I know. I saw him at the courthouse around an hour ago. He told me that you were learning a new piece. When I reminded him of how much I enjoyed hearing you play last week, he invited me to stop by and stay for dinner. He said you'd enjoy an audience." He flashed her a cheeky grin, gesturing to the piano. "So? Will you play for me, Miss Gardiner?"

There was no logical reason for Leighton to refuse and they both knew it. Joanna quietly entered the room with tea and poured while Leighton readied her sheet music. The only thing she could do now was play and hope that the song she played didn't match what she'd recreated at the prosecutor's bench. She began to play, focusing solely on the music, trying to ignore the man standing next to her, his elbow propped on the piano, observing her fingers closely. The only sound was the sonata Leighton had perfected the night before, supplemented by the gentle patter of raindrops outside. As the song ended, Leighton looked up at Holmes, raising an eyebrow.

"Well, sir? Your thoughts? I believe you said you were a music aficionado the last time you were here."

The detective applauded softly, his grin returning. "Brava, Miss Gardiner, exactly what I expected." Leighton felt a chill run down her spine. "If you'd allow me, I'd like to play something for you now." Leighton stood up, allowing Holmes to take her place. "I'm afraid I won't be nearly as talented as you, Miss Gardiner, but I'll do what I can." He exaggeratedly stretched his fingers out before placing them in the same position that Leighton's had been. "Do you remember that prosecutor I mentioned, Miss Gardiner? I'm going to attempt to recreate the pattern I observed him tapping on the table in court today. I had plenty of time to learn it, he was tapping nearly the whole trial."

Leighton cursed inwardly. She hadn't seen him at her trial today. She held her breath as he began to play. It was clearly the exact same melody that she'd just played, albeit slower and a little more clunky.

"You can't argue this as coincidence, can you, Miss Gardiner?"

Leighton sighed. The game was finally over. "I could, sir, but I'm sure you wouldn't believe me."

Holmes looked over his shoulder at her, his brown eyes unreadable. "So you're formally confirming my theory, then? Leighton Gardiner and Leigh Greenwald are, in fact, the same person?"

Leighton hesitated for a fraction of a second, then nodded. "Yes."

"Yes!" Holmes crowed, grinning. "I knew it! I knew I was right! I mean, I always am.

Leighton raised an eyebrow at his childish outburst. For a famous detective, he could occasionally be quite immature. "How long did you know?" She wasn't honestly sure that she wanted to know the answer, but she asked anyway.

Holmes stood, leveling his gaze at her. "I knew it from the start, from the second I met you in the courthouse. However, this week I met a defense attorney who has influenced me to find proof before jumping to conclusions. So I decided to wait and gather evidence before confronting you. However, I can safely say that this is one of the more interesting conclusions I've drawn recently. You were quite convincing as a man, Miss Gardiner." He laughed slightly.

Leighton couldn't help but smile just a little. "It was hard work, to be sure." She bit her lip, her unease still present despite her expression. Holmes seemed to sense her distress.

"Do you… do you think I'm going to reveal your secret?"

"I can't lie, sir, the thought did indeed cross my mind."

Holmes's eyes widened. "I would never, Miss- er, Mr.… ah, what would you prefer that I call you? It just feels a little strange now that I know…what I know."

Leighton smiled. "Leigh is fine when we're in private. I see it as a middle ground, as it were. But not in front of my father, Mr. Holmes, or you'll likely never see me at the Old Bailey or otherwise again." She didn't usually speak with this much levity, but she couldn't help it – she was so relieved.

"Well, Leigh, I wouldn't dream of telling. It fascinates me too much, and besides, you have powerful friends that you've fooled who aren't always on my side." Holmes's chocolate eyes gleamed with mirth and she could tell that he was completely sincere.

"I suppose you're right, Mr. Holmes."

Holmes began to pace around the parlor, gesturing wildly with his hands as he spoke. "But can you imagine the reaction your story would receive from the public if it were passed off as fiction? I could call Iris over to write it for the Randst, it'd sell in no time!" His excitement was growing so rapidly that Leighton was afraid she would be unable to calm him down.

"Mr. Holmes!" she interrupted him, struggling not to roll her eyes. "I'd prefer that my story not be made known to the general public, even as fiction."

Holmes sighed, throwing down his hands in defeat. "If that's what you want, Leigh, I'm in no position to oppose you." He took a seat, gesturing her over. "But I think you at least owe me the full story. My curiosity must be satisfied."

Leighton sighed, taking the seat across from him and pouring more tea for both of them. "Well, where should I begin?"

Holmes took the cup, smiling at her over the rim of it. "From the very beginning."


End file.
